


WASH ME

by kyburg



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Dirty cars need love too, Gen, Graffiti, Miss you, the ones left behind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyburg/pseuds/kyburg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Al takes out his frustrations with Sam by writing graffiti on the dust accumulating on his car in the parking lot."</p>
            </blockquote>





	WASH ME

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another one of those "if you like this, you'll like that" moments - this is still one of my favorite examples of American television at its most innovative, even if the execution was deeply flawed.
> 
> Take an hour of television - *any* hour of television - and see the flaws to make it right. To improve what had gone before. But in the mix is this Sherlock and Holmes relationship - how and why of it all.
> 
> Enjoy.

The note had been written on a sheet of yellow, lined paper from a legal pad and from all indications, in a big hurry.

"Dear Professor Becket, " Sam had read aloud, the keys to the huge Dodge Caravan parked in front them hung on one pinky, "I got that internship in the Peace Corps you recommended me for, right after my folks got me this as a graduation present. I can't take it with me, and I heard the other day from the Admiral that your car was heading for the scrap yard. Please take it with my blessings."

"I take it the pink slip is in the envelope as well?" Admiral Albert Calavicci tried to peer over Sam's shoulder to see for himself, but only got a dirty look for his trouble.

"It is. What the hell, Al? Bessie is nowhere near ready for the junkyard - "

"Now, kid - Bessie is very nice for a '52 Ford pickup truck, but you can't say she's always reliable transportation." Bessie had made the trip from MIT, after many cold winters on salted-ice roads with little shelter. Nobody really had a clue what her color was, let alone what it should be. Al hadn't had the nerve yet to question where Bessie had come from before that, but if it had been a farm in Indiana, he wouldn't have been surprised. "No offense, but you've got standing now, an image that this - "

Okay, it was a mini-van. It was at least new or nearly new.

"Mom-mobile," Sam spat out as if it tasted bad.

"New, capacity-enhanced transportation device," he countered. "Hey, at least it still has new-car smell, Sam! And you're going to be doing that student of yours a favor. Come on, Dr. Beckett - you're going to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

He should have known that look he gave the vehicle. Sam had been sizing up how much more of Project: Starbright he could load into it without anyone knowing. Bringing it back to Project: Quantum Leap, unloading and installing the missing parts. Getting the accelerator ready to fire up.

Three nights later, Leaping away without telling anyone, and how the hell Gooshie had gotten tapped in was still a mystery. He still wasn't speaking to Ziggy, not much.

It was big, it was blue and Sam had parked it in his spot with the temporary tags still on it. Without so much as a tarp to cover it.

Bessie was still at home, parked in the garage with her tank emptied. _Dammit, Sam. Planned some of this, but not all of it._

At least he had planned to return to a few things. But if he never returned? Bessie was in his will, he was its executor after all, right?

_Dammit, Sam._

Time passed, and dust settles as it will when you're in New Mexico, out beyond civilization. The first time Al wrote "Wash Me" on the back window of the mini-van with a gentle finger, it had been almost wistful, anticipating a swift return.

He'd had time to embellish it with stars, dots, stripes and epithets. Many, many colorful Navy-grade at its best epithets. He drew the line at diagrams.

But he never washed the thing. That was Sam's job, and it would wait until he returned.

One night, though - he'd left the Project after a long stint in the Imaging Chamber to find Beeks and Gooshie already there with a hose, a bucket and soap.

"Traitors." Guilty looks, the whole nine yards. Butter wouldn't have melted in those mouths.

He'd made the mistake of lighting a cigar before confronting them, of course. Gooshie squirted him, and Beeks made him dry after they'd finished. Al had sent them the dry cleaning bill. And then he started over.

_Wash Me. I Miss You. Dirty Mom-mobiles Need Love Too. God, Time, Whatever or Bust._

_Leap Home, Sam._

_**Wash Me, I'm Yours.** _

**Author's Note:**

> The show is easily found these days in syndication - enjoy the music, if you can find a version with the original soundtrack. Also, the Archive could always use a few more entries.
> 
> Comments always appreciated. Thanks.


End file.
